


Winter Winds

by BlankLiterature



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlankLiterature/pseuds/BlankLiterature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was freezing as I walked back home that night. I could feel it in every single bone, and not even the fireplace that I put to work was enough to keep my teeth from chattering. I felt like I was about to pass out from hypothermia at any second, and nothing could help me. You did, though."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The song is "Winter Winds", by the ever amazing Mumford & Sons. If you don't know them... please do yourself a favor and go check them out!

It was cold when you broke the curse. It was cold as I walked back home without my son, knowing he was alive, but also knowing that, with the whole town remembering who I am and confirming to him he had been right all along, and with me having accidentally almost killed him in an attempt to get rid of you, there was just no chance he would ever want anything to do with me again. It was cold as I walked into his bedroom and sobbed into his pillow and ended up falling asleep on his bed that night.

It was cold the next morning, and even chillier as I found out I did not have my magic back, differently from what I had thought. A shiver ran down my spine when the mob approached, and Whale grabbed me, and I was sure they would make me pay for all I had done to them, curse included, but far from only; but it went away when you stopped them.

It was freezing in that jail cell, and when that creature tried to suck my soul out, it was like it also took all the warmth in my body; but a little bit of it was restored as you took my hand and helped me up and stood close to me as your father tried to decide my fate... and a little bit of that warmth even reached my heart when you not only stood up for me, but told them it was something Henry had asked.

Still, the danger I was in with that wraith around quickly made me cold again, especially after realizing the hat was not working at all. I literally froze in fear, and the only thing that broke me out of that was your hand on my arm. But just a moment later, it was as if there was ice coursing through my veins instead of blood, because the monster was gone, but so were you... you pushed me away to protect me, but ended up paying for that, not only yourself, but your insufferable mother as well.

I forgot how to move for a few moments, I was locked in place as if stuck in a blizzard, and for once, there was no you to break that spell. Your father did that, forcing me to defend myself, and I took out on him the anger that was meant for my own self for letting that happen. Funny that, such a short time ago, I was looking for ways and more ways to get rid of you for good... but as soon as I achieved that, without as much as really trying, panic set in, chilling me to the core.

It was cold the morning of the day you came back, and I couldn't tell how much of that came from the air around me, and how much came from inside. The threat of my mother coming through that portal and possibly getting to Henry, and the imminence of throwing all the hard work I had been doing to make myself a better person away, just as Gold wanted me to... all of that drained me and it was as if there was a snowfall coating my heart.

But then there was Henry, and his trust and his love that I had to live up to... and after a moment of torture that felt like hours, and the ice-cold realization that it might have been absolutely useless, there was you. And you walked up to me, with my son, our son, in your arms and for once gushing to you about _me_ and how _I_ has saved you - not the other way round – and the snow melted, and I realized, against all odds and predictions, I was actually glad to see you again safe and sound. I was honest when I welcomed you back, and your incredulous yet sincere smile finished drying the melted snow around my heart.

It's a shame that these kinds of moments are so fleeting, and so quickly they're gone. And for me, that means going back to the coldness I've gotten used to, the one I've lived in for the biggest part of my life. That time, it came with watching everyone go away, together, happily, to a celebration – to which I wasn't invited. It came with seeing my son leave with you, without as much as a look back.

And once more it was you to fix that, or at least try, by actually remembering, even if as an afterthought, to invite me to your welcoming party. I am still not completely sure why I went there, why I even bothered to cook something to take with me. I could tell myself it was because I was trying to change, and maybe part of that involved trying to make amends and being friendly to the people who hated me and who'd have gladly killed me, hadn't you intervened. But I guess it's very clear that would have been a lie. Henry would be there, and I knew it... so I know a lot of what made me drag myself there was the chance of spending at least a few moments with him, even if with no privacy at all, and even knowing there was a chance he'd be too busy with his biological family to spare me as much as a glance. Still, I am a mother... I always try; I can't even help it. But I also knew that wasn't the whole reason. In a way, it was also because I wanted to see you again, make sure you were really back... and because the cold had started to settle in again.

But soon I was forgotten even by Henry, and ignored by everyone else as, honestly, I had already supposed it would be. And it wasn't as if you had spoken a single word directly to me either, although I was surely thankful that you again stood up for me instead of letting that dwarf attempt to cut me open with a kitchen knife. It wasn't working, though. Neither of my intentions for that night were. I had gone there looking for sun, and been met with heavy rain. I could as well give up.

As soon as I did, however, there you were. And your words, although not the ones I had hoped to hear, worked a little bit. They always do, I guess, even if in mysterious ways that I can rarely understand. Short-lived as it was, I had a small moment to tan in your smile. But I dared to want more... I dared to want to see my son, to ask for it even... and of course it all went downhill for that, and ruined the tiny progress I had made.

It was freezing as I walked back home that night. I could feel it in every single bone, and not even the fireplace that I put to work, not even sitting right in front of it with a few blankets around me, was enough to keep my teeth from chattering. I felt like I was about to pass out from hypothermia at any second, and nothing could help me.

You did, though. Your hands on my shoulders, even through all the layers, were efficient in spreading some warmth through me again. Your voice asking me if I was alright, saying you had thought better and talked to Henry, and that he had wanted more time with me and you had changed your mind and realized it might be good for both of us... that was enough to bring me to a normal temperature again.

A shiver ran down my spine at the sudden change, as if it could help my blood turn liquid again more quickly, and together with it, the icebergs behind my eyes decided to melt all at once and fall out of them before I had a chance to control it. In just a few seconds, I was crying and sobbing, and no matter how hard I tried to stop, it did not work, because there was way too much saltwater forcing its way out; the dam was broken and it took far longer than that to repair it again. But your eyes as you forced my chin up and made me look at you as you told me over and over that it was okay, that everything was fine... your eyes made all that water vaporize instantly.

The heaving of my chest and the contractions in my gut did not go away so easily, but the flowing river stopped; that was already a start. And then you wrapped your arms around me, God even knows why... and, unexplainable as it might be, I let you. Not only that, but after a few moments, I actually allowed my own self to cling to you. I was clearly not on my right mind anyway...

You took the chance to press your lips to my temple, and although the rational part of my brain that was somehow still working – even if barely – told me that you were probably just trying to check whether I had a fever (since it was indeed a winter night, but it was not _that_ cold apparently), it felt just like a kiss, and a very tender one at that. My body responded to that by sighing and, embarrassing as that was, snuggling closer to you. I realized a second too late how pathetic that was... but it was done, and it was not something I could take back anymore, so I just hoped you somehow would not have noticed any movement on my part.

Of course you did, though. When does anything ever pass you by? You did notice it, and you did not say a word, but your arms did tighten their grip on me, and I could swear I felt you smile against my forehead – which made me realize your lips were still there, far longer than would have been necessary for a simple temperature check. I felt like I should protest, like I should demand to be released and let be... but I couldn't find it in myself to. I felt warm, safe, protected; all things I had pretty much forgotten about already, since I could not even recall the last time I had felt so.

So, instead of protesting, I moved my head away from your mouth just enough to be able to lift it and actually look into your eyes again. Once more, I was met with their unbelievable warmth... but this time, I also got more.

I felt your lips crashing onto mine, and all it took me was a second of shock before I was responding to it just as fiercely. I needed that. I needed you, and I needed the sun in your hair and the eternal summer breeze in your voice and the calm lake in your irises in which one could swim without any fear. And I remember having such a hard time forming any coherent thought, and I also remember how the only thing I could tell myself over and over as we kissed was "But I don't love her... I can't love her...". But honestly... it did not matter, and I did not care at all anymore. I just wanted the cold to stay away, and you were the one to make that happen, and that was a feeling I most definitely _did_ love. So what use was it to overthink any of it?

_As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts_   
_Oh, the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms_   
_Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?_   
_For every kiss, your beauty trumped my doubt_

Somehow we made it to my bed, although I honestly cannot tell exactly when that happened or even how we managed to walk the way there without letting go of each other... I guess the vapor must have fogged my vision and my mind, but I do know we got there at some point. Clothes were torn off, all the half a dozen layers that I had on me suddenly fell away and, differently from what I would have guessed, I did not feel any colder from that, but quite the opposite. The contact of your skin with mine set me ablaze, and at that moment I could perfectly understand what they mean when they say cold does not exist; it is simply the absence of heat.

And you had more than enough of that to share with me, to transmit to me, to fill the room and the house and to produce an incredible amount of steam that covered the walls and windows of my bedroom. No ice, no snowfall, no blizzard could have ever survived that and remained intact, or even existent; mine sure didn't. For the rest of that night and up until morning came, I did not think about anything at all, if that is even possible. Or if I did, I sincerely do not remember doing so. What's more, I also do not remember feeling anything other than the sheer warmth that came from you, from being close to you and connected to you, and the comfort that entailed. That was all I could register, and that was more than anyone besides Henry had been able to make me feel for so many decades.

That night, I finally understood why everyone referred to you as the Savior. Because that was exactly what you did to me. You saved me from death by internal hypothermia, caused by my own self. I was freezing myself from the inside out, and then you came and found a way to undo all that from the outside, and it was nothing short of magical.

But here's the thing: magic can become addicting. I can attest to it better than most... And, just like it had happened with the kind of magic Rumplestiltskin introduced me to, I became addicted to you. Because, the moment after you were gone the next day, the cold started settling in again, and with it, the panic. And it was even worse than before, because of the contrast with what I had just experienced.

I was never sure that made any sense, but for once I could actually agree with the theory that it might better to not experience any sort of improvement than to have it and then see it go away, and simply revert back to the initial situation. Once you get to know how much better it can be... it's like what was only merely annoying before suddenly becomes unbearable. It was like I could not stand a single more moment of that, like I _had_ , I _needed_ to just go back a few hours and make time stop so that I could be in your arms for the whole of eternity. And it scared me to no end to not know if I would ever be at that place again.

I was far too proud to admit it, however. But in the end, I didn't need to. You were back that night, and the next, and the next, and Henry started coming with you every now and then, and we'd have dinner all together and watch a movie afterwards, and he'd be in awe of the fact that we were actually getting along. And then I'd tuck him in bed while you pretended to leave, but instead simply went to my bedroom and waited for me there; you'd only really leave when morning came, but always before he woke up at first.

And then, with time, we decided all that fuss was really no longer necessary. It might have had something to do with the fact that I unknowingly snuggled into you once during movie time, and he happened to catch the exact moment when you, without realizing what you were doing or thinking about it, wrapped your arms around me instead of pushing me away and reminding me of his presence. After that, it made no sense to hide it from him; and in fact it was worth letting him know, just for the look of joy on his little face.

Still, there were no names to it. Nothing official, nothing open, Henry was pretty much the only one to know, and was immediately made to swear secrecy – which, for once, he was able to do quite well. Maybe he did know what was at stake if everyone else found out, and how bad that could be for you. Your parents did notice you were not spending nights at their place anymore, obviously; but you somehow managed to drop hints about being with somebody else, and deter them from further questioning.

There were also no obligations, no strings, no talk about feelings or anything similar. It was just what I needed, because all I could be sure of was still the very same thing as in that first night: that I loved the way I felt while you were close.

I loved feeling like I was in a tropical paradise, with the warm breeze blowing at my face and the sun kissing my skin, and I loved feeling like I was involved in a magic blanket that provided me with the perfectly right amount of heat, and I loved feeling like I was at last receiving the warm embrace that I never got from a parent, and I loved how it made me feel protected and safe and for once taken care of.

That was the kind of comfort that I had been looking for my whole life, without ever being able to find it. I couldn't find it in my mother, because she did not want to provide me with any level of comfort at all; that would ruin her plans to mold me into the woman she would have liked to be herself. I couldn't find it in my father, because although I am sure he did love me, there was always the fact that he was somehow able to stand there quietly and watch my mother abuse and berate me without speaking as much as a word against it. I couldn't find it in my husband, because all he wanted was a body that remained frozen in place whenever he needed it, and a mother to his daughter.

I couldn't find it in magic, because the more I used it, the colder I became; the price I had to pay for it was perhaps exactly the freezing of my heart. I couldn't find it in my revenge against your mother, probably because said revenge never worked correctly, and all I had was the constant desire for it, that kept me moving on against all odds and made me dive deeper and deeper into magic. I couldn't find it in my curse, because depriving everyone of their loved ones and their happy endings did _not_ , contrarily from what I had imagined and hoped for before it was set into action, provide _me_ with a happy ending of my own, much less with love. I couldn't find it in prayer, because I was much too wretched and much too far gone to even deserve to lift a single thought in prayer; it would probably be seen as pure mockery at that point; besides, I was not sure at all whether I did still believe in anything anymore.

And no, I could not even find this kind of thing in Daniel, although I did find many other things in him, love included. But he, too, tried to change me into the woman he wanted me to be, and to understand every last bit of me – even the parts that I myself did not understand -, and for that, he broke me apart and confined every single piece into neatly organized boxes, when nothing in me was every that clearly settled; and his organization just unsettled it more and more.

But I did find it in you. Perhaps exactly due to our lack of labels and, especially, of expectations. You were there, you'd be there every night, that was all I needed to know, and that was all I needed to get. I'd have to make it through the cold days, but the nights would be the warmest they could ever be. And I was there too, ready to let you in every time you came; and that seemed to be enough for you as well.

I did not expect you to save the day, or the town, or the people, or anything; hell, you were already saving me even without trying, and possibly even without realizing it, and that was everything I cared about. You did not expect me to be a proper lady, or a queen, or the personification of "good" like your parents, or your deceased wife... you did not expect me to be anyone or anything besides the best version of me I could possibly be for you and for our son. And that... that was something that I could be, because being me involved being bad at times, no matter how much better I might have become – and you were okay with that. So it worked. I felt at ease in your arms, and that was all that ever mattered to me.

_Oh, the shame that sent me off_

_from the God that I once loved  
Was the same that sent me into your arms_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For me, it was the littlest bit of fear that insisted on remaining, no matter how many times I tried to send it away. It was the nagging voice at the back of my mind telling me that the world outside was cold and cruel and ready to kill me in the first opportunity if I opened up to it. It was my mother's voice telling me that love was an unwelcome vulnerability."

For the first time in my life, with the days and the weeks that passed, my heart started learning what a real Spring was. It was like your blaring sunshine could not only put an end to the snow, but warm the terrain enough for the grass to grow and the flowers to bloom. I myself felt like I was awakening for the first time after a slumber that lasted for decades. It was really something akin to receiving the first breath of fresh air after hibernating inside a cave all Winter long; except my Winter was far longer than 3 months.

I could suddenly understand why all of nature, animals, plants, rivers, lakes, everything rejoices as soon as the weather starts getting a bit warmer and the coldest days pass. There is life in this season; life that could never thrive when it had to fight against being suffocated and frozen the whole time. There was life in me, _real_ life, and not just the pantomime of it that I had grown used to since I could remember.

I could feel my organs working, my lungs opening up fully to receive the fresh air that was begging to come in, my heart pumping freely, neither constricted by the weight of a hundred snowfalls anymore. My blood was warm in my veins, and actually took nourishment to every corner of my body, instead of the sheer anger and bitterness it used to carry. It was like I was going through some sort of rebirth, just like the daffodil's seed which stays buried beneath snow all Winter long and still manages to survive somehow, but it's only in Spring-time that it can actually bloom – and in doing so, it actually changes its nature, from the closed, dull-colored, hard exterior that was needed to protect it from the harshness of the weather, to a delicate flower that opens itself to reveal its bright, joyful colors.

That was me, that was how I found myself while in your company, while under your care. All that I had suffocated in me for so long, out of necessity of protecting myself, was little by little coming out; I was finally _allowing_ it to, I was finally feeling safe enough for that.

I had my son, and not only in body: I had his love and his pride again, just like I did when he was much younger; except this time, he actually _knew_ me. He knew who I was and what I'd done, I did not have to lie to him anymore, and still he loved me somehow, and still he was proud of me for trying to be better. And I had you. I had someone who was there for me just because, who did not demand anything of me except that I try and that I'd be there as well. I had someone who also saw me for what I was, and still found me worthy of her company, and my efforts worthy of her praise.

So, yes, I could finally allow myself to actually _be_ , and not just pretend. That was bliss, right? Except, sometimes, when the Winter lasts an eternity, it can actually leave its mark on you. It can change you, it can make your organism adapt to it on its struggle to survive, which at the same time means you're not fully equipped to survive other types of weather that easily. So when it ends, you start the new season with props that might have been essential to surviving the cold, but which might make it harder to move on to something different.

For me, it was the littlest bit of fear that insisted on remaining, no matter how many times I tried to send it away. It was the instinct to guard myself, to save my energies and my supplies because I might need them at any moment, and if I disposed of them freely, I'd be left hanging when the toughest times came. It was the force compelling me to maintain at least some form of protection, it was the nagging voice at the back of my mind telling me that the world outside was cold and cruel and ready to kill me in the first opportunity if I opened up to it. It was my mother's voice telling me that love was an unwelcome vulnerability.

Feelings in general were, I always knew that. Feelings were what made you act without thinking, feelings were what accounted for poorly-made decisions and bad calculations and mistakes and remorse and guilt. But love... love was the most dangerous of them, perhaps exactly because it was the most powerful and, thus, the hardest to fight back against once it took over you.

You showed me, day by day, that it was worth the risk. You and Henry, together, did. You both made me feel like there was barely any risk at all; that you would not forsake me or abandon me or hurt me, like you would not ignore me or abuse me or berate me, like so many had done before. And, for once, I was not afraid of my mother taking either of you from me, because _I would not let her._ And still, it was hard; the nearly impossible kind of hard.

With Henry, not that much, because I _already_ loved him. I had loved him since the very first time I saw his tiny face when he was no more than a couple of months old. True, loving him had hurt; loving him had ripped my heart apart, even through all the protection armor I had around it, because, yes, he was always my weakness. When it came to him, my heart had long ago been opened, so it hurt. It hurt to see him start hating me, it hurt to see him go after you in another state, it hurt to have him choose you over me time after time... but in the end, he asked for my life, he asked you to protect me, he wanted me alive. He could have chosen to never speak to me again and simply continue his life with you, and yet he chose us _both_. In the end... he did love me back. All I had to do was work on actually loving him _right_ for once, so that I wouldn't lose him again.

But with you, it was different. You were a different person... an adult one, not a newborn that I could raise to my own ways, not a child whose mind I could still try to shape. You were your own person, one who could most definitely leave at any moment, and take my son with you while you were at that; it wasn't like you hadn't tried before. You could hurt me, and you had hurt me because of Henry... and there was no proof you wouldn't again; or at least that's what the Winter in me kept repeating. And, each and every time, I could feel its pull on me getting stronger, even if just for a second.

I'd fight it, and you'd help me with it without even knowing. Your smile, your voice, your eyes would always be so earnest and so warm that any shade of doubt would go away and any remaining coldness would vaporize into thin air. With time, I learned how to truly let you in. Not just in the physical sense we had had at first, not just impliedly, not just in gazes and touches but never in words as it had been that first night. Somehow I allowed myself to care for you, more than I had cared for any adult person since Daniel.

Soon, it was not just your company that I liked; it was not just about the way your presence made me feel, or about what it gave me. It was about _you_. I truly liked you, all of you, even the things about you that I hated, and I didn't even know how that was possible, but it I knew that it was.

There was still an unanswered question, though. The exact same question that I had asked myself the very first night you were with me: whether I actually _loved_ you or not. No matter how much I thought about it, I could simply not reach an answer.

Or maybe I could; maybe I already had the answer, maybe my mind had already known it all along... maybe it was just that my heart was not willing to admit it, to accept it. Maybe it was still too afraid to take _that_ big of a risk, and so it just kept telling me that it couldn't be, it couldn't be it, it couldn't be true; I couldn't do it, I couldn't allow it to do it. And that was a conflict that I knew almost nothing about, because only once before had my mind and my heart been conflicted about _love_.

With Henry, as it had been with my father, and as it had been with Daniel, it was always both about love, even when I did not know how to love well. With everyone else, it was always about _hate_ , anger, revenge, and anything I had to do to accomplish it. Those were the only things my heart allowed itself to feel, and my mind worked solely as a way to plan and prepare the work that I needed to reach the vengeance my heart needed. There was only ever one person who was able to create a conflict inside me, and that was my mother. And when it came to her... my mind won.

Except, with her, my mind was the one telling me to let go, to let _her_ go, to actually _send_ her away even. No matter how much my heart loved her, she was no good for me, and I knew it. She ruined my happiness, she killed the man I loved, she forced me into a loveless marriage, she was never able to truly love me herself – and that last thing was perhaps the biggest harm she ever did to me. So my mind told me I shouldn't love her; or, since that was not possible, my mind told me it was more important to protect myself, because my safety, my mental and emotional safety, was more important than my love for her.

With you, though... it was the exact opposite. My mind told me that I'd be safe with you, that I could allow myself to love you, and it'd only make me happy and more comfortable than I had ever been before. My mind told me we could form a lifelong family, you, me and our son. And yet my heart was afraid to open itself up completely, to let itself fall.

_And my head told my heart_   
_"Let love grow"_   
_But my heart told my head_   
_"This time no,_   
_This time no"_

So I just tried to keep things the way they were: no names for feelings or relationships or anything else, no explanations, no outspoken commitment, no telling anyone about it. I tried to show you how much I cared through other ways, and hoped you would understand the message. Meanwhile, I told myself over and over again that caring was fine, loving your company was fine, allowing myself to revel in your sunlight was fine, accepting your influence in my life was fine. It was all fine, as long as I did not let myself love _you_. It was not like you asked that of me anyway.

For all I knew, you could as well be in the very same situation. Perhaps being with me provided you with the stability you had also always longed for. Perhaps it gave you the sense of family you never had, of waking up next to someone and knowing your kid is in a room at the end of the corridor and you can just go to the kitchen and make pancakes and have a family breakfast. Perhaps you had also been hungry for someone to share your days with, since I knew that you, just like me, hadn't had that for quite a while. Perhaps it was _that_ you loved, and it was _that_ which made you care about me at all.

And, if that was so, then there was really nothing bad about where I stood, where _we_ stood; it could still be perfect, in its own way. Except... when are things ever that simple? When had they ever been that simple for _me_ , specifically? When had I ever had anything good actually last?

It started with your mother, always your damn mother, my damn (thankfully) former step-daughter, ruining things, as seemed to be her specialty. Of course, that was to be expected, with you having all but moved in with me; she was bound to start asking questions sometime, no matter how much effort you put into telling her off or simply side-tracking her; still, I couldn't help but hate her a little more than I already did for it.

She was probably the most gullible person I have ever met, but not even her could be _that_ stupid to not realize that her own daughter, for some reason, did not want to introduce her to whomever she was spending most of her time with. And, once she reached that conclusion, all the alerts in her silly little head obviously started going off, and she started pressing for an answer, a name.

What really threw me off about it, however, was your reaction to it. It was how easily you caved in and told her, even if you knew very well that it would go badly. And it was how you simply left her freaking out and yelling all over the place, or so you told me; how you simply walked away and left her complaining to her own self, and came straight to me to tell me about it. And, when I questioned you about _why_ on Earth you had done that, and reminded you that she could as well go and tell the whole town now, and they would most likely start a riot against me, accuse me of cursing you and forcing you to be with me, or corrupting you with dark magic, or anything else they could come up with, and asked how you could possibly think that had been a good move on your part... it was the answer you gave me.

It was the barely contained panic present in my voice and stamped on my face, and it was the fact that my first worry had been for my own safety, and not for your well-being. It was the look in your eyes and the lack of hesitation in your voice as you told me that you had grown tired of lying to your mother and father, you had grown tired of hiding, and you would face the whole town if you had to, because you loved me, and you did not think love was something that should ever have to be kept hidden. It was you telling me it was worth it, exactly because you loved me (and the way you said it, with firmness and certainty and braveness) and because I loved you too (and the way your voice broke a little when you said this, and the uncertainty that took hold of it, and the way it sounded far more as a question than an affirmation)... didn't I?

It was the fact that I could not bring myself to say a single word. Just like I could not bring myself to answer that question to my own self, even though I had been trying for months, I also could not answer it to you either. Which, of course, made you immediately assume that the answer was "no", instead of trying to understand that, maybe, it was simply confusing... maybe it was neither and both. Or maybe I was just a coward.

It was the way you looked at me in utter disbelief, and how you were rendered completely speechless, and yet you did not need a single word to express your pain, even because no words would have ever been enough. Your eyes, on the other hand, screamed loudly, nearly deafening me with how hurt you were and how betrayed you felt. You had been there for me, trusted me, you had dedicated your time and your effort and your heart to me... you had allowed yourself to love me. You had just gotten yourself into an argument with your mother, the mother you spent your whole life looking for, because of me. And, in your mind, I did not love you back.

I could read your expression as well and as quickly as I would a children's book. Your face was always a perfect painting of everything that went on inside you; the exact opposite of me. I could see the conflict, the hurt, the anger that followed. I could see you asking your own self a million questions. But I knew which the main of them was: _is it really worth it, after all? Is it worth it, if she doesn't really love me as I thought she did? Is this, whatever this is – since I can't be sure anymore -, worth dedicating myself and my life and my effort to?_

I guess I knew what the answer would be even before you yourself did. It was probably a blessing, since it gave me at least a couple of seconds to prepare myself for what I saw the moment after: your face suddenly going harder, trying to conceal the shock that was still stamped all over it, your eyes becoming colder. It was at that very moment that I realized... my Spring had actually been your Fall.

_We'll be washed and buried one day, my girl_   
_And the time we were given will be left for the world_   
_The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague_   
_So let the memories be good for those who stay_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How can someone who has only ever known cold, freezing weather be responsible for keeping Summer going?"

_"Your slightest look easily will unclose me_   
_though I have closed myself as fingers,_   
_You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_   
_(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose."_

**_E.E Cummings_ **

It was then that it started. Unlike time, seasons are not an exact science; and they come when they want to come, not before or after. Unpredictable, not always understandable, sometimes unexpectedly and seemingly out-of-moment. And they fool us... and sometimes, out of hope, we let ourselves be fooled. Like those two warm weeks in February when the sun shines and you leave your heavy coats at home and the birds sing and the flowers start to bloom because the whole world thinks Spring decided to come early that given year... but then there comes another snowfall, to remind you that you control nothing, you know nothing, and any hope is in vain. And, especially, that you need to enjoy any relief you can get while it lasts, but without letting yourself really depend on it.

That was what my Spring was: fake. It was a bluff, a skilful one at that, to make my own self both believe and actually _feel_ the change happening inside of me, and honestly think it was true... when it couldn't be. Either that, or time actually decided to move backwards for me; or perhaps _I_ decided to walk backwards, like a coward that sees a fight and starts backing away to not risk being involved in it. Because that is what I am, a coward; one that puts on a brave façade every day, but still. And I was not ready. I was so not ready for Summer. Or even for a _real_ Spring, for that matter. I was not ready to let myself be opened, to let life shine, to let love reign.

I would rather go back inside my cave and hibernate for a while longer. That was lonely and cold and honestly felt like death, like freezing over until there was barely anything left of life in me at all – because that was exactly how I was before you came along. And yet, I would choose that... I would choose that to letting myself grow warmer, because at least that was safe. Painful, torturous, but safe. There were no risks, no more pain, nothing could get to me as long as my heart was well hidden and kept cold.

So, perhaps, that was what was happening to me. I had managed to leave Winter behind... to take a step forward and leave my comfort zone. But that was all I had ever known for longer than I could remember. I needed time to adapt to Spring; I needed mild weather for quite a long time until I could get used to it, until I could grow out the necessary mechanisms to cope with heat, until I could drop, little by little, _all_ the defenses I had built up.

But I didn't have that time. With that one moment, what you asked of me was to take a huge jump forward... when I hadn't even grown accustomed to the grounds I was standing on to start with. And, just like a scared animal that finds itself in a potentially dangerous situation and out of their comfort zone, I let my instincts kick in and take charge. And my instincts told me to run back right to where I had come from; my instincts told me that Winter was my safest bet still, and at that moment, I'd have done anything to go back to it, even if that meant running across half a globe to go look for the coldness in another hemisphere if that was what it took.

No matter what was going on, when threatened, I'd run and protect myself. That's what I grew up doing, that's all I have ever known. Old habits don't go away that easily; especially since the one responsible for helping me change in the first place was exactly the one now asking of me far more than I could give just yet. I wanted to try... I really, really did. For you, for Henry, even for my own self. But I needed time.

I had been fighting with that idea for so long on my own, trying to find a way to give my own self that answer, and I knew with every pore of myself that I was not yet ready to. But still, I could just keep telling myself that it was not urgent, it was not necessary to do it right now. I kept stalling it, yes; but I also continued to tell myself that the day _would_ come when I would be ready to open up and think about whatever was going on between us in an honest way, no longer being held back by my fears or my layers and layers of coldness and self-protection.

I honestly believed I would get to that point someday. I believed I would, somehow, at some point, find myself able to open up to you completely, to allow myself to love you without fear, without reservations... to admit to my own self, as well as to you and anyone who cared to know, the true depth of my feelings for you. In my mind, there was just no hurry, and I could take my time getting there, because I knew very well that it could not be a quick process; not with all the scars I had gained every time I had dared to go there before.

But in that one moment, you took this possibility away. You took my time away. It was all you could do, and in a way, I understood. But you asked me for "now", when I could give you no certainty, no deadlines, especially not a quick one. And my lack of an answer was as good for you as a "never".

I ran back to my Winter... and you started yours. Your first ever. Out of nowhere, like when it suddenly starts snowing in October because the weather simply decided so, with no warnings or any foreseeable reason. Winter decided to come too early that year, and so it would, because it does what it wants to do and nothing can stop it.

And you, my Summer child, fell victim to it. But, truthfully, the process had started long ago. It was set into motion the moment you decided to share your warmth with me. Because you... you were always sunlight, alone, on your own. You never needed anyone, you were always independent, you were fine and complete in your own self. You had your own ways, your own rays of sun, that you could choose to shine upon whomever it was that you wanted to; but it was just _you_ helping them, you liberally deciding you could be generous and allow someone else to bask in all you had to offer. Never the other way round.

But with me... for some reason, it was different. You did for me so much more than you would ever know, so much more than I would ever be able to explain to you; you did so much more than you did for pretty much everyone before, combined. But that was not everything. You also allowed yourself to grow attached to me. You allowed yourself to _feel_ something for me, to _love_ me, and to _need_ me in your life... That was something you had only ever done with two people, a man and his son. And the first time left you feeling betrayed and traumatized enough that it took you 10 years and a child knocking on your door to even _try_ that again.

Still, you gave me that. You let me in, just as much as you gave yourself to me; and you expected to receive the same thing, you expected to receive the same love you poured onto me back. And you sure as hell _deserved_ it, you deserved me to fight for you and do my best to save you and lift you up, just as you had been doing for me day after day. But you deserving it did not change the fact that I was far too weak to actually _give_ you that.

Which, of course, accounted for disaster. Because, the moment you allowed yourself to let me in, the moment you started _falling_ for me... everything changed. That was your Fall, your descent, literally and metaphorically. That was the moment when being alone, keeping everyone at arms length, taking care of your own self, were not enough anymore. That was the moment when the sunshine you always had within you started depending not only on your own self as it always had before, but on _me._

And that just couldn't be right, could it? That could have never turned out fine. How can someone who has only ever known cold, freezing weather be responsible for keeping Summer going? How could I, with all the ice only recently melted inside me, and even some remaining icebergs still in place, give you the warmth you needed to keep yourself shining bright?

Looking back on everything after our argument, I realized I should have seen it all coming. I should have noticed you falling, slipping more and more into my own patterns. I should have paid attention to the fact that you were not bringing me to where you were in the first place; we were reaching some middle ground, which meant you losing part of yourself in the process.

I should have seen that, I should have seen my Winter reaching you, touching you, tainting you. I should have never let any of this happen. I should have _never, ever_ allowed myself to be the cause of your Fall. But I was far too selfish and far too enthralled in my own self and my supposed blooming to become aware of that until it was too late... until your eyes were literally growing colder and colder with each passing second that went by without me being able to assure you that I loved you.

It was like, somehow, I had managed to take it all away, to rob you of all your light, all your fire, and make it depend on my love. As long as you actually believed I loved you, you managed to keep it... It was only at that moment, when your belief had just been shattered, that the two of us finally realized that I was not the only one who had changed during the months we had been together; you had too, more than either of us would be able to describe... but for the worst. You had given me the very best of you... and I had somehow passed onto you the worst things about myself.

Without a word, you turned around and walked away. Not thirty seconds later, Henry ran past me to follow on your heels, probably having stayed hidden somewhere long enough to hear the whole exchange; I swear that sneakiness was inherited from you. And again, I was left alone.

Again, as I stood there for countless minutes, maybe hours, until I finally let myself slide to the floor and allowed the tears to slide across my face, it snowed in my heart. For the first time in months, I shivered while I looked through the window and watched you make your way back to your mother's apartment.

The shivers soon turned into sobs, my spine turned to ice, my blood froze over yet again... and it hurt. It hurt just like it did the very first time it happened, when I was no more than a young girl who had just lost the man she loved. It hurt a lot more than it had hurt the last time, on that first night you stayed over; because, then, I was already used to it, In a way. This time... it was the shock of it happening again, when I thought it never would.

It hurt like a million icicles piercing through my heart all at once. And it made me regret ever letting my guard down for you. It made me regret ever letting you come close, ever letting you in, ever allowing for our lives to be interwoven like they had been for the last few months. It made me wish you had never come after me that night. Because, then, you wouldn't be broken, you would still be your own sunny self... and I wouldn't be in even more pain than I was then, right before it all started.

This time, alongside with everything that already hurt me before, along with the added pain of the unexpectedness of this, along with seeing my son leave me to run after you yet again... there was the pain of losing you, and of having failed you – and our son, and my own self - , and there was the guilt of breaking you, of robbing you of your light, of your warmth... of destroying you like I myself had been destroyed so many years before. And that made everything unbelievably harder to bear. It made it all look hopeless; it made _me_ feel hopeless. If I hadn't been able to change, really change, not even for Henry, not even for _you_... then I knew I never would. I would keep destroying people over and over, even when I wanted to love them instead.

_Oh, and pestilence has won_

_when you are lost and I am gone_   
_And no hope, no hope will overcome_

I knew that, as long as I was in your life, things would never be right. _You_ would never be who you are supposed to be. At least not for as long as you still loved me – and for as long as I myself could not find a way to allow myself to love you back, and admit that openly to the both of us. And the thing was... I didn't think I would ever get that far. I was too scarred, too far gone, too cold for that; I had too many walls put up, too many layers of thick, hardened skin that I needed to bury myself beneath to survive the harshness that had been thrown upon me for nearly all of my life. It was probably too late to change now. Even when I tried, it never worked, because as soon as a couple of external layers were torn off, I got so afraid that I made sure to stitch them back carefully and run away back to where I had come from. I was not well equipped to do this, and I probably never would be, and at that moment, I was finally well aware of that.

And I knew it was selfish of me to put you through dealing with that. It was selfish of me to drag you into it, into my sorry excuse of a life, even though I only allowed that to happen because I honestly believed I _could_ change in time. I should have known better, though. But now that my eyes had been opened, I knew that time was not going to come. And I knew that it would not be fair to ask you to try to understand that, try to understand why I am this way, why I have become the person I am, what led me to choose the paths I have taken.

It would be selfish, because I would be asking you to accept the fact that I would never be able to give you something that you had been giving me all along. I was not suited for this kind of thing; I did not deserve to receive your love, or anyone else's, when I was not capable of allowing myself to give it freely. My heart was frozen, would always be, and if not even your eternal sunlight was able to completely unfreeze it... then nothing would, and that was something I could be very sure of.

I guess the only thing that was left for me to decide then was what to do about the whole situation. What to make of things, so that your pain was as small as possible. I wished I could simply take it, all of it, and make it be like it had never happened... I wished I could magically heal you and restore you back to how you were before that night. But, unfortunately, this is one of the few things for which magic simply does not work. I would know... I had already tried it on myself so many times over the years. So I knew eliminating your pain, making you stop hurting, was not something I could do. Still... maybe I could think of something, _anything_ , that could prevent it from becoming too big... maybe something that could even soothe some of it.

At that moment, I thought to myself that what I would honestly like to do would be simply disappear from your life, from Henry's life, and find a way to make both of you feel like I was never in it in the first place... erase your memories of me, somehow make you believe you were always mother and son and there was never anyone else. And, if possible, I would like to do the same to myself, so that I would also be free from the memories of you... and the pain that I knew would come seeing the two of you happily together, without a single clue of who I had once been to each of you. Then, maybe things would be fine... for the three of us.

Slowly, the idea crept its way into my mind. It started taking shape little by little, still somewhat hazy at first, but the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. There actually was a way to make it better. As soon as I became fully aware of what I was thinking, and not in a coming-down-from-an-emotional-high state, the idea actually became a concrete plan, one that I could easily put into practice.

I nearly bolted from the place on the floor where I had allowed myself to sit for God knows how many hours, and all but sprinted to my personal library. There, hidden behind a few other books, was the one I was looking for: my mother's old spellbook. I hesitated for a few minutes, contemplating what I was about to do. It went against everything I had been trying to do, and everything I had been trying to be, for many months now, and I asked myself whether it was really the right thing to do.

But it was. Everything I had tried had only ended in even more pain – for myself, for you, for Henry. Obviously I could not change as a person – at least not while remaining my own self. Magic was my way; it was the only thing that had ever worked for me, the only thing that ever allowed me to reach the results I was aiming for. Trying to stay away from it left me feeling powerless and helpless and always ended with me ruining everything. That much was already very clear. At least this time, I would actually be using that magic for someone else's benefit, and not just my own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For over two decades now, I had been so absurdly sick of seeing the same things, the same houses, the same faces day after day after day. So many times I wished I could just take a walk outside of Storybrooke, visit some other place, see new landscapes, meet new people... anything new, anything different. But, as I made my way to your apartment, I found myself thinking that I would actually miss all of that."

* * *

I finally found the courage to pick the book up, quickly flipping through it to check whether what I wanted really was there, and finding it after just a few pages. Clutching it to my chest, I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, the cold determination of someone who has reached a final decision. I grabbed everything I would need to take with me and organized it as best as I could inside a small suitcase; I figured that would be enough, at least to start with.

Then, as an afterthought, I decided to make a quick trip to my home office, for one extra arrangement that I found necessary before what I was about to do. Opening the safe, I removed a document from it. Just a few pages, but I knew it was important. I hastily rewrote some of it on my laptop and printed the new version, immediately giving it the Storybrooke document authenticity seal. Being the mayor had its advantages, after all. And that was it, that was all I had to do when it came to precautions and preparations.

I allowed myself to take a moment to just walk around the house, the place that had been my home for the last 29 years of my life, and mentally say my farewells. Perhaps it would have been much easier, much less painful, if I had just turned around and left, not really acknowledging that that was a goodbye; but I could never do anything like that. I always needed closures, symbolic gestures, and so on. In the end, there was still at least a little bit of emotion beneath all the ice, I guess; not enough, never enough, but there was some, and it was that which led me to have a penchant for these kinds of sentimental moments.

I traced my steps back to my bedroom, a lot more slowly this time, and sat on the bed for a few minutes. I forced myself to breathe in deeply, in part to try and calm my heart down, in part to take in the scent of the air – basically my perfume mixed with yours. I looked around, picturing in my mind all the moments we had lived inside those four walls in the last few months. I tried to evoke the warmth you had helped me feel in there, on that bed, in that room, in that house... but it was nearly useless. You were gone... and everything was back to feeling like an igloo, just like it had before, starting with my own self. Without you, and without Henry... it was all completely cold, and my heart more than anything else.

I spent the longest time inside Henry's bedroom as well, making sure to look at every corner of it, every single picture of him, of us, every toy, every book, every drawing taped to the walls. It was as if I was trying to take it all in, to make it become inevitably ingrained into my mind somehow, so that I would never, ever be able to forget... even if that completely defeated the purpose of what I intended to do, and I was well aware of that fact.

Still, I could not resist it, just like I could not resist picking up one of the picture frames, the one with my favorite picture of the two of us, around a year before you first came to Storybrooke... a time when he still loved me and saw nothing wrong with who I was; a time when I was still his one and only mommy. I knew it was a wrong step... but still, I _needed_ it. So, before I could change my mind, I shoved it inside the suitcase.

And with that, I finally found the strength I needed to exit the house, only stopping to take a quick look back at its exterior... and at my dear apple tree. I wished I could say a proper goodbye to it as well... but I knew I couldn't. I would most likely break down, all the tears I had been managing to keep inside for the last few hours already threatening to spill out. Besides, I realized I didn't have much time left. Somehow it was already the middle of the night, and in just a couple of hours, you and Henry and your parents and the whole town would be waking up. I had to be done with my plan before that.

I could not keep myself from at least taking a good look at the town as I walked along the streets, though. The houses, the shops, Granny's... The very same buildings I had been seeing every day, every single day for nearly thirty years; the places that I would most likely never see again. It's somewhat ironical how the knowledge that we're about to lose something makes us appreciate it so much more, isn't it? It's like an extra touch of torture that our hearts and minds insist on inflicting upon us, forcing us to feel so much more attached to something that is going to be ripped out from us, simply so that we will hurt all the more when that happens, instead of allowing us to prepare ourselves for the blow by becoming unattached and ceasing to give whatever we're about to lose any importance at all.

For over two decades now, I had been so absurdly sick of seeing the same things, the same houses, the same faces day after day after day. So many times I wished I could just take a walk outside of Storybrooke, visit some other place, see new landscapes, meet new people... anything new, anything different. But, as I made my way to your apartment, I found myself thinking that I would actually miss all of that. And, most importantly, I would miss _you_. You and our son. The only people who actually mattered to me.

Rationally, I knew very well that I would not be able to miss anything at all. Not if everything worked how it was supposed to. Still, it felt like some part of my heart still would; like there would be this hole in it, that would continue existing anywhere, anytime, and would not be filled without the two of you. I only hoped it would not be the same way for you, though. I hoped you would simply go back to being as complete, and warm and strong and beautiful as you were before me. And I hoped Henry would be too happy with his biological mom to notice anything at all. I honestly hoped there would be no traces of me left behind.

With a swift movement of my hand, the door to your mother's apartment was opened; it was far from the first time I did that. My mind screamed that it would be the last, though. Differently from all the previous ones, however, my intention was to fix my wrongs, to try and do something right for once. I stopped for a moment, listening attentively to make sure none of you were awake, and then allowed myself in.

Luckily, your parents had chosen to take the upstairs bed, and you and Henry were sharing the downstairs one; at least that way I would not have to see their faces at all, or risk waking them up to reach you. I tried to be as silent as I could as I made my way to the bed and stopped next to it. The two of you looked so peaceful, both with your mouths slightly open in the very same fashion. Seeing you and Henry side by side, with your guards down in the state of innocence that only sleep can bring, made me see just how much he looks like you, not only physically, but also in his gestures and mannerisms, despite the fact that it was me alone who raised him.

_And if your strife strikes at your sleep_   
_Remember, spring swaps snow for leaves_   
_You'll be happy and wholesome again_   
_When the city clears and sun ascends_

Another flood of warmth washed over my heart at the sight... but a moment later, it was gone. I had to force it out. I had to keep control of myself, otherwise this would not work. So I forced myself to become cold again, colder than ever. I had come here for a reason; I had a task to complete, and that was what I was going to do. And after that, I was going to trace my steps back and leave, and that would be it.

Opening the spellbook on the page I had previously marked, I whispered the words. The words that would make the two of you forget me, forget everything about me, forget anything you might have felt for me at all. I was not sure that was entirely necessary, since the plan was for everyone in Storybrooke, no exceptions, to forget about my existence completely. I was not sure how exactly the next step I was going to take would go though; it was not something anyone had tried before – at least not in that exact order – so the effect it would have on the other people of the town was still subject to speculation, even though I had a very likely theory.

But, if anything went wrong, I wanted to make sure at least the two of you did forget me. Because, if everyone else did remember me, they would be more than happy to see me gone. And that was something I had no problems with, because I always knew it would be so. I always knew all of them hated me and wanted me dead, disappeared, or anything similar. And now, they would get it, so if they were actually able to realize that and enjoy having their wish come true... then be it. It's not like I would be there to see it anyway.

You and Henry, however, needed to forget. You needed to not remember a single thing about me, so that, even if any of the others mentioned me to you, you would just have absolutely no clue of who they were talking about. I needed to make sure that I would not only not cause either of you any more pain than I had already caused, but also erase the pain that I _had_ already caused you as much as possible. That was, after all, the whole purpose of what I was doing. So yes, the spell was a necessary precaution... just to make sure.

And that is why I needed to turn my heart as cold as ice once again. So that I could muster the courage and the strength to let you go, and to know that there was no turning point after that. Even if I gave up on completing the plan, after that spell was cast, neither of you would remember me anyway... so there would also be no point in giving up anyway.

I knew it would be hard. Not just the kind of hard that one can push through by gritting one's teeth either. Horribly hard, gut-wrenchingly hard, the kind of hard that makes you prefer to rip your heart out and crush it with your bare hands than to actually do whatever it is that you have to do – and yes, I did consider that possibility, ironical as that might be, but it would not solve anything for you or our son.

So I did what I had to do... and it was even more painful than I expected, no matter how frozen I was trying to make my heart. It could have frozen over and over a million times, with layer over layer of glaciers and icebergs and snow... and it would still have been the most painful thing I have ever done. But, somehow, I got through it, by sheer force of will, by telling myself it would be over soon – for me as well as for you -, by focusing on my mind rather than the shattered ice block inside my chest. However it was, it was done. And I could not bear to look at your sweet, beautiful faces for a second longer than necessary.

I walked out of the apartment as quickly as I could without making noise, only stopping to leave the document I had printed before leaving my house on the table. My _former_ house, to be correct. Not only would I not be living in it anymore, but the text on that paper said that the mansion belonged to _you_ , not me. I had rewritten the deed of the property, with your name figuring as the lawful owner. It would be as if it had always been yours, and you just didn't know it until then.

I knew your parents had been looking for a larger place where all of you could live together, as the family you had never gotten to be, but without being crammed like you were in that tiny apartment. That was my way of helping... and of making sure my son got to grow up in the house he had always lived in, sleeping in his bedroom with all of his things, playing in the yard he had grown up running around, and so on. I just sincerely hoped you would keep the garden in shape... but, whatever I might have had against your mother, I had to admit she was almost as good with plants as my own self. I knew she would do a very good job at that.

Maybe that would make up for a little bit of the pain and suffering I had caused all of you out of sheer anger and bitterness and desire for revenge. Maybe that would count for something. Maybe, the memory of who I was, who I had been for so many years – that same memory that was hopefully about to be erased – could have one last deed to its name before it disappeared. And maybe, with that deed being a good, selfless one, it could perhaps soften the slightest bit all the hatred that it had deservedly received during the years. Maybe... I could fool myself into thinking that, if my son was capable of remembering me at all after he woke up... he would hate me a little bit less for doing this.

I knew very well it was useless; he would not remember me, he would not remember the house used to be mine, he would not know what I had done. No one would. That was the whole purpose of all my actions at that point. He would probably feel the familiarity of the house, though; as would you, even if less deeply. He would know he had always lived in it, he would know it was _his_ home... but not that the person living there with him had been anyone other than you, hopefully. And that would be it.

Still... I could lie to my own self. I could give myself that, one last comforting lie, to make my conscience a little bit less heavy while I still had it, to make my heart hurt a little bit less by telling myself that he would not _completely_ hate me if he knew what I was doing. I could give myself at least those last few moments of comfort.

Resignedly, I walked on, until the other side of town, to the invisible line that divided Storybrooke and its peculiar inhabitants and way of life from the rest of this magic-less world. Once more, I allowed myself to take everything in while on my way there. Every house, every shop, every car parked on the street, every sign, every tree. It was the last time I would be seeing those; the very last time, after seeing them every single day for almost thirty years. If the feeling that overtook me was not nostalgia, then I knew I had absolutely no clue of what that word meant.

I stopped upon reaching that mark, just ahead of the "Welcome to Storybrooke" sign. I could somehow feel where the town ended and the regular road began: magic, although invisible, lefts its mark. If one is as familiar with it as I was, it was completely possible to sense it, and the absence of it. So I knew exactly where I had to come to a halt for the time being.

My heart thumped inside my chest like it wanted to jump out, and I actually didn't blame it; I wouldn't want to be inside myself either, if I had the choice. Rationally, however, I knew the reason for that was my own fear, of what I was about to do, of it not working, of it working wrongly, of it actually causing more harm than the good I was trying to do, of the spell I had cast on you and Henry not actually working either, of what I was going to have to face in just a few moments, of what the future would bring.

I was afraid, I was more scared than I remember being in many, many years, with the exception of that night when I found out Henry was missing and no one in the whole town knew where he was... the night he went to Boston to fetch you, and it all started to change. I had been scared out of my mind of anything happening to him... but besides that, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had felt any fear at all in the last couple of decades. I did at that moment though, and that was one more thing to make my blood freeze and my teeth shatter and my hands tremble.

But I told myself yet again that it would all be over soon. I would make it so; I had to. I could not give up at that point. As much of a coward as I knew I was – and I was well aware that I was possibly the biggest coward to ever exist, so much so that I was going through all of that and doing all of that simply because I was too afraid to let myself love someone -, I _needed_ to find at least a little drop of bravery inside myself. At least enough to push myself through the motions that would bring all that torture to an end. And so I did.

Turning to face the direction of the town, I again murmured some words from another enchantment, this one meant to erase every trace I had ever left in Storybrooke. Anything I had ever done would be undone, and mark I had left would be covered, every situation involving me would be rewritten. For every single purpose, I would have never been there at all. That should deal with everyone else.

While the spell I had cast earlier on you and Henry was specific to the two of you, and thus a lot more powerful, and meant to completely erase your memories of me and consequently anything they might have made you feel, this one was more general. It did not refer to any of Storybrooke's inhabitants except my own self. Still, the effects of it would also make sure everyone else forgot about me as well, if all worked out right. Since this spell was weaker though, because of how broad it was, I felt the need to give the two of you an extra protection; it was never too much, especially when it came to making sure I would not cause you any more pain.

After everyone else's memories had hopefully been taken care of, though, there was still one left: my own. The way to handle that one was very different from all the others, though. Yes, it also demanded magic... but one of a whole different nature. And for that one, I needed an object; anything at all would do, so I had not actually bothered to take something with me specifically for that purpose: the suitcase I was carrying would be more than good enough.

I placed it as close to the town border as possible, while still not crossing it. Then, making sure to not touch it again just yet, I squatted down in front of it and placed both of my hand directly above it, palms down. Closing my eyes, I focused on the magic that needed to be done: infusing that suitcase with a personality, complete with a set of false memories, a new name, personal traits and characteristics and whatnot. Just like I had done for every other person in that town, except my own self. Apparently my turn for that had finally come, even if three decades later.

After a few moments, that was done with. And I knew it was time. The chill that had settled itself inside me ever since that plan had been formed in my mind had reached its very appex. My whole body trembled, and I could not tell how much of it was from fear, and how much of it was from cold, the cold that came from the inside, the cold that plagued my very existence... and that I hoped was having its very last moments of control over me.

Exactly as the sun was starting to dawn in the horizon, a single tear ran down my cheek as I, with one swift movement, picked the suitcase up... and stepped forward.

_And my head told my heart_   
_"Let love grow"_   
_But my heart told my head_   
_"This time no_   
_This time no"_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has read this story and stuck with me, THANK YOU! It really means the world to me!  
> And to everyone who wanted a different ending... I'm honestly sorry for disappointing you, but this is what feels honest to me right now.  
> I hope you have still enjoyed it!


End file.
